Lieutenant Commander Stud Page 13

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied. I inhaled, then told the Commander what happened in concise sentences. I stuck to the facts and didn’t allow emotion to enter my voice, though it was a struggle.

  Jack had committed a crime I couldn’t fathom – he endangered the life of a civilian. We were sworn to protect this country and its people. It was a vow I’d always taken seriously, but Jack, who’d gone through the same training I had, must’ve avoided that deep sense of obligation.

  I continued the tale of what happened, down to the call I made to the local police, then cleared my throat to signal I was done.

  “That’s it?” Commander Shepherd asked. “Boy, I thought we had a sexual assault case on our hands.”

  “With all due respect, Commander, this isn’t something I take lightly.”

  “Nor do I. Which is why I’m going to advise you call the police and instruct them to direct their energies elsewhere.”

  “W-what?” I clenched my fist. He couldn’t be serious. “I saw him, Commander Shepherd. I saw Petty Officer Whitmore standing over Timothy’s body with my own two eyes.”

  “But no one else did,” Shepherd replied. “Relax, Baker, I can hear you going into cardiac arrest from over here. Listen to me carefully now, we cannot afford to involve the local police in military business. Especially, when the situation in that backwater town is so volatile.”

  “He beat the living crap out of him,” I said, then added, “Sir.”

  “Language, Baker. And so you say, but we can’t put Whitmore behind bars until we have unequivocal proof that he committed the crime.”

  “Sir, there’s a young man in a hospital bed in Cregton. If that’s not proof then –”

  “A young man in a coma,” Shepherd said. “It would be very unwise to purport Petty Officer Whitmore’s supposed involvement in a crime when we don’t have physical evidence. As I understand it, the situation there is volatile.”

  Good fuck, it was about to get a whole lot more volatile in a minute. I’d fucking explode and blow the roof off my office if Shepherd didn’t take this seriously. “Sir, I understand your concern, but Whitmore is an animal.”

  “Then put him on the base. Confine him to his quarters. No leaving the officer’s quarters under any circumstance. Shit, Baker, I don’t care if you put bars on his windows. Do not let this get out of control or you will regret it. Do you understand, soldier?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said. “But I believe the situation is already out of control. As I said, those men witnessed me standing beside Timothy in the alley.”

  “Yes, but they didn’t actually see Whitmore beating him, did they?”

  “No?”

  “Or you?”

  “Sir, I didn’t touch –”

  “Regardless, there’s no proof it was anyone associated with the United States Navy. Now, I will ensure that a full investigation is conducted into what occurred in that alleyway last night, Baker. I will ensure that the due course of justice is served, but I will not court-martial an active officer without good reason in the current political climate. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied, and resisted the urge to slam my fists onto the desk repeatedly like a fucking ape man. I understood, sure, but I didn’t have to like it. I saw what I saw, and that was Jack’s bloodied, split knuckles and the flash of triumph in his eyes. Did he know that Shepherd would respond this way?

  “You have your orders now, Baker. Make this go away. Make it work. Or I’ll move you to somewhere else. You don’t need another incident on your record.” He hung up.

  I slammed the receiver down so hard a chip of plastic flew off the side of the phone. “Christ,” I howled. It was the most out of control I’d been in years. This was utter bullshit. Whitmore viciously attacked a civilian, and I had to call off the search for him? Call off the cops?

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, and kicked my trash can.

  A knock at my office door, and the knob turned.

  “In, come in. What is it?” I yelled.

  Petty Officer Jameson reappeared. “No sign of him, Lieutenant Commander,” she said.

  It was a kick to the balls, only slightly less painful than the one Shepherd had just given me. “We have to find him. But first, put in a call to the local police and tell them that the military is going to handle this situation. He’s one of our own.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

  “Just keep looking. Keep fucking looking.”

  Jameson saluted and left me in relative peace again. This was it. This was the thing that would finally push me over the edge and into oblivion. It was my word against Whitmore’s until someone actually proved otherwise.

  I understood exactly where Shepherd came from with his concerns about the town and keeping everything on an even keel, but it still left a steely taste in my mouth. A tang that made me want to hock spit into my now-dented waste paper basket.

  I shoved my chair back and stood up, pacing back and forth. For fuck sake, why had this happened? What in God’s name had possessed Whitmore to do something like this? It wasn’t self-defense or even provocation. He laid into that kid for the pure pleasure of it, or because he had some psycho-fuck agenda I couldn’t grasp.

  Commotion outside my office and another knock, this one hasty.

  “What is it?”

  Jameson peeked around the edge of the door again. “Sir, Whitmore’s back. He’s here.”

  “What?!”

  “He just came walking back through the gates. The private on guard house duty called up a couple minutes ago,” she said. I’d never witnessed her feathers ruffled before today.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” I said. “Go get him. Now!”

  “Sir, yes, Sir.” She disappeared again, and I forced myself to breathe. If I didn’t breathe, I’d lay into Whitmore the minute I saw him. One punch and I was out. Dishonorable discharge without a question, because there’d be plenty of men and women around to witness it and report back to Shepherd.

  Whitmore came back. What did that mean? That he thought he could get away with this? That had to be it. His cocky confidence extended to this too, apparently. It’d take time for them to bring him up from the first guard house, at least fifteen minutes.

  What could I do to pass the time? Walk around in my office swearing under my breath?

  Chanel popped into my thoughts instantly. The first reprieve I had from anger and she was there, an iceberg in the center of a swirling mess of fire and debris. I clung to thoughts of her and centered myself. She was on the base. She needed me to be calm and in control, just as the other soldiers here did.

  I had to hold myself back. I’d manage this somehow, and if Whitmore had to be confined to the officer’s quarters so be it. I’d move Chanel out, if I had to.

  The rumble of a truck and the fall of boots outside my office. The door creaked open. “Sir, Petty Officer Jameson is back.” A soldier I didn’t know by name.

  “Thank you, private,” I replied, and walked around my desk and out into the hall. My pulse kicked into overdrive and adrenaline zinged through me. Tunnel vision. Shit, the anger thundered back.

  I inhaled and exhaled. Even. Calm. Never lose control. You’re the one in command on this base. Do what you have to do. Stay fucking calm, Baker! For Chanel.

  I rounded the corner and entered the main hall which looked out on the parking bay outside. Jameson hopped down from the driver’s seat of a truck. Soldiers exited with her, several of them walked around to the back and shifted the canopy aside.

  And there he was. Whitmore exited the back, his hands unbound, with a full military escort. Even now, he sauntered. Shit, he tried to exchange pleasantries with the men on either side of him, but they ignored him flat.

  The corridor fell silent behind me. Either the soldiers had cleared off or they stood watching, as stunned by Jack as I was. The man didn’t know shame.

  He finally spotted me and the swagger faltered for a single beat, then sla
mmed back into place. Jack Whitmore entered the building, grinning from ear to ear. “There you are, Lieutenant Commander,” he said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  The group of men and Jameson halted in front of me, waiting for instruction.

  I couldn’t give it yet – my jaw was clenched so tight it was practically welded shut.

  “You see, I hear that some poor kid got beat up last night after I left the bar. In fact, I hear it was you that did the beating, and that you’re trying to pin it on me,” Whitmore said, and flashed me a shit-eating grin.

  “Lift your hands,” I said, coolly.

  Confusion flashed across the man’s face. He raised them slowly and the split knuckles, the bruises along them, were clear to everyone in the hall. No one spoke or moved, except for Whitmore. “Shit, must’ve have banged them on something in my motel room.”

  It was a lame excuse and Jack knew it. He couldn’t possibly worm his way out of this one.

  “All water under the bridge, right? You took care of the one man who stood in your way.” Whitmore wouldn’t stop. He wanted me to hit him, but I wouldn’t grant him that wish even if it fucking tore me apart inside. “That kid was the one after your girl, right?”

  This time one of the soldiers shifted, glanced at Jack askance. Rumors about Chanel had spread, then.

  “That’s right. She was fucking that kid, wasn’t she? Timothy, right? And you took matters into your own hands.”

  I cleared my throat. “Petty Officer Jameson, please escort Petty Officer Whitmore to his quarters. He’s not to leave them unless he requires a bathroom break or food in the officer’s mess hall. I want guards stationed outside his window and door at all hours. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal, Lieutenant Commander.” Jameson saluted, then signaled for the convoy of soldiers to move out and down the hall.

  “Is that it, Baker? I’m under house arrest? Boohoo,” Whitmore hissed. “I’ll be so sad being that close to your precious Chanel.”

  The man had clearly cracked. Usually, it was active service that did that to a man, but Jack hadn’t done anything of the sort of late. I didn’t watch them lead him off to his quarters, but focused on the Rocky Mountains, the clouds, the shades of gray and blue on the horizon.

  Calm. Everything would be all right. I’d get this sorted out, somehow.

  Someone tapped me on the arm and I turned.

  Chanel’s concern swam through my haze of forced control and retained anger. “Are you okay?” she asked. “He sounded – he sounds like he’s lost it, Ryan.”

  “I know,” he replied. “It’s okay. He’s going to be under guard, and I’ll move you further away from him.”

  “It’s fine, I’m two halls away. It’s not like he’s living next door to me,” she replied. “I’m not afraid of him.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’m afraid of messing up the presentation,” she replied, and tapped her pen against the front of her binder.

  It was her way of distracting me and I appreciated it. “Do you need help with anything?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, actually, I’d love to get your opinion on a few fabric samples for some of the curtains,” she replied. “Do you have the time?”

  Did I have the time for her? Always. “Sure. Let’s grab some lunch.”

  Chapter 21

  Chanel

  I stayed late in the mess hall after everyone left. Ryan went back to his office because he had too much to handle after what’d happened with Whitmore and Timothy. I didn’t want to hassle him, and the fluorescents in the officer’s mess hall put me at ease.

  It was likely because they reminded me of the first house we stayed in. Well, the first stable one. A clapboard home in Ohio, with a butter yellow kitchen too small to cook in, but big enough for homework at the pine table.

  Mom did her best. Dad was home when he could be. Those were good times for me.

  I shifted my empty tray to one side and focused on the laptop in front of me. I tapped on the keys, and pulled an image onto the slide. I’d created a presentation of mood boards, taken pictures of what the base looked like now, then put up the comparison of what I planned to do afterward.

  Simple changes, not too costly, but ones that would make the world of difference for the soldiers here.

  I picked up my coffee, slurped down some of the good stuff, then put it down again. Gosh, it wasn’t even that late. Seven pm if the clock on my desktop was to be trusted, but I could barely keep my eyes open.

  Luckily, the creepy feeling in my gut had subsided. Whitmore wasn’t out there somewhere, he was under watch close by. He couldn’t hurt Timothy or anyone else, and all of this would be resolved in no time.

  Everything would be just fine. I stifled a yawn. Shit, I’d have to call it a night and head back to my room for some sleep. I’d done an admirable job of resisting my baser urge to jump Ryan during lunch this afternoon, but a little fantasizing before bed wasn’t uncalled for.

  I closed the lid of my laptop and got up.

  Two soldiers appeared in the doorway, Jack Whitmore between them.

  “Well, hello,” Whitmore said, and smiled at me. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I picked up my laptop, tucked it under one arm, then piled my coffee cup onto my tray and carried it to the front of the cafeteria, where the sliding glass counters waited.

  “What, you’re too good for me now, Chanel?” he taunted. “You weren’t too good to talk to me before.”

  “That was before you beat my friend’s face to pulp,” I snapped. I wasn’t able to keep it in. “You’re sick, you know that?”

  “Oh honey, you have no idea,” he said, behind me.

  “Quiet.” That was from one of his escorts.

  “Touchy, touchy. I’m only kidding around. I didn’t beat him up, anyway, Chanel.”

  I didn’t dare turn and look him in the eye. I didn’t have Ryan’s self-control. I couldn’t shove my emotions to one side and ignore the fact that he literally ruined a man’s life.

  I trembled and hugged my laptop to my chest to guard it, and to keep my hands busy.

  “You don’t have to believe me, but it’s true. I didn’t beat Timothy.”

  “I don’t believe you at all. So save your breath.”

  “It was Ryan. He got drunk, you see,” Whitmore continued and met me at the front counter. “He was really angry when he saw that kid there. Mentioned that he’d hit on you while you were in Ryan’s car.”

  I gulped and made for the exit. I couldn’t listen to another second of it or I’d spew my dinner – greens and roast chicken – all over the tired gray tiles.

  “He saw Timothy and he went nuts. He followed him outside. I tried to stop him but Ryan was possessed. I’ve never seen him that angry. He beat that kid into the ground. He beat him until he couldn’t move anymore.”

  I’d already entered the hall, but Whitmore’s words pursued me. They tickled the tiny kernel of doubt that I didn’t know was lodged in the back of my mind. What if it was Ryan? After all, how could Whitmore possibly know about Timothy?

  “Stop,” I whispered, and hurried back to my bedroom. I entered it and swung the door shut, cutting out the imaginary cackle that had followed me all the way there. Of course, Whitmore’s laugh couldn’t have chased me to my quarters. Of course, Ryan didn’t beat Timothy to within an inch of his life. Of course not.

  “So stop being ridiculous and focus on now, here,” I said. I locked my bedroom door.

  The first few nights, I’d left it unlocked in case Ryan decided to sneak in and pay me a ‘conjugal’ visit. Suddenly, I wasn’t in the mood for anything like that.

  “Stop,” I repeated. But Whitmore had planted a horrible, thorny seed.

  How well did I really know Ryan? He was a closed book. He hadn’t let me in at all, other than to enter me and fulfill my soul with his passionate lovemaking. But in between? He was nothing but confusion.

  And didn’t Whitmore say that Ryan changed after he’
d been deployed? That he came back a different man because he’d lost men.

  This wasn’t fair to Ryan. He hadn’t done anything to hurt me or anyone else to my knowledge. And I couldn’t believe that I was falling for – oh God, yes, I had fallen for him – a man who’d actually accost someone who’d done nothing to deserve it.

  But he was so jealous in the car. He drove off. I didn’t realized it at the time, but he seethed about it and now –

  My phone rang and sliced the horrible train of thought down the middle. Thank God for that. I brought it out of my jacket pocket, then swiped my thumb across the screen. “Hello?” I walked the laptop over to my desk and set it down.

  “Chanel.” My mother’s voice always sent a chill down my spine.

  Once upon a time, it made me happy. Oh how times changed. Or was it people? “Hi, mom. What can I do for you?”

  “What you can do for me is get your butt back to Meek Springs,” she said. Whoa, not pulling any punches today, apparently.

  “Uh, what?”

  “Timothy Meller is in hospital!”

  “I know,” I said.

  “He’s in a coma because – what did you say?”

  “I know,” I repeated. “I know he’s in hospital. I heard about it firsthand when they brought in the man who did it.”

  “That Baker fellow did it,” mom snapped.

  “No, he didn’t. A man named Jack Whitmore did it, and –”

  “That’s garbage in a handbag and you know it. You’re defending them instead of the people who really matter. The people down here in Meek Springs,” she replied. “Everyone’s talking about this, Chanel. Everyone knows that you’re up there with them. With him.”

  “Mom, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “Jesus!”

  “Language!”

  The conversation lulled for all of a second.

  “I won’t let my daughter become a hussy on my watch. And I won’t let her bring down our family name.”

  This was ridiculous. “Mom, you’re jumping to conclusions, okay? I’m up here working. I’ve got that big presentation coming up and once I nail it I’ll have a huge customer on our list.”